


Animals

by APHTrashbin (verfens)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents, cold war au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:44:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4534947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verfens/pseuds/APHTrashbin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been 2 years since the Wall fell and now his employer has fallen too, leaving Soviet-trained spy and assassin Gilbert Beilschmidt without a thing to his name in the entire world except the various people he pissed off during his service to a country that no longer exists.  Not to mention, his entire life seems to be a lie, he doesn't know where most of his fellow spies have run off to, and now he's stuck in America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Getting on and off the flight was easy enough- Russia hadn't been around long enough to put him on a no-fly list, after all. He probably would have thought the entire affair with Gorbachev and the Politburo was hilarious, if it hadn't literally been the end of the company he had spent almost all of his life serving.

His name was Gilbert Beilschmidt. He had only ever remembered the "Gilbert" part of that name, but that was to be assumed. He held his file in his briefcase, along with a super high tech computer he had whisked away from his office in the USSR, along with a couple other things, namely weapons to protect himself should the need arise.

America was supposed to be the land of opportunity, and that was why he was here, and not in the Southern continent, along with the fact there was no small bit of information that told him that Nazis were still living out their lives in that region.

Of course, being in the heart of the world that he had spied on for the past 13 years was probably a poor decision, but he had the advantage of no one here knowing what he looked like, barring the CIA and FBI, and he had only really ever shown his face to one CIA agent in total- the one he had always called "Golden boy" in his horrible English.

He still had  _horrific_  English, but he could at least put together a few words in a coherent sentence.

The money he had been able to scrounge up in the airport from trading in his forged German dollars had gotten him an apartment. The real question was- how the ever loving fuck was he going to get a job? He could barely speak English and had no formal schooling to speak of- meaning that though he  _had_  schooling, it was best to keep  _what_  he had been trained in on the down low if he wanted to live freely.

He had the cyanide pill still firmly stuck in his fake tooth, so if worst did come to worse, he'd be able to pull that stunt like a lot of his other East German spies had done. However, he had come here and not died there, with them. That was because Gilbert was never one to consider suicide as a way out.

But, now he was in fact here, and if he didn't want that pill to get any more appealing, he had to get a job to get some sort of income.

XXXXX

It took them all of a week to track him down.  Gilbert was no stranger to having time contraints, and so had done well to learn what he could of their language.

"Golden Boy!" He said in his fake cheerful voice, grinning madly before speaking in solid German to fuck with them. " _It's been so long! And I see you brought_  Eyebrows  _with you_!"

"Cut the crap, Red Eyes." Golden Boy, the American CIA agent laughed a bit at his soured face. "We've been keeping some tabs on you, Red Eyes. You speak good ol' English now, so lets hear it."

"Ugh." He muttered, rolling his eyes. "Glad to see you two still in field. Small blessings."

"And you're not?" The British man he so affectionately called "Eyebrows" raised one of those monsters, gesturing for Gilbert to put his hands up with a gun pointed at Gilbert's head.

"No." He laughed, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, refusing to listen to the Brit's orders. "First the office in the Fatherland fell, then the office in the Motherland." He nodded, shrugging.

"So, you're saying that you're here on…personal reasons?" Eyebrows looked suspicious, but Golden Boy looked interested as he spoke.

"Would you mind coming with us?" Golden Boy asked, gesturing to himself and Eyebrows. "We have another Soviet spy in our custody and protection."

"Which one?" Gilbert asked, laughing a bit as he walked, no longer imminently afraid of being killed. "Not all of them are trustworthy,  _ja_? Some of them are wiggling to find another, larger bug to serve."

"Where does that leave you, then?" Eyebrows asked, still training his gun on him even as Gilbert grabbed a beer, popping the cap on the feeble table and taking a long guzzle.

The East German shrugged, before he grabbed his file from his bag. "Here, I guess." He handed it to Golden Boy's outstretched hand, the American having quickly caught on to what he was doing, and reading the first page of file quickly in a couple of glances.

"Red Eyes, your name is  _Gilbert_   _Beilschmidt_?" He asked, sounding incredibly surprised by the new information.

Gilbert grinned widely. "Yes! It is new to me as well. I have served them since I was young, very young. I started spying when I was…. 13?" He shrugged. "That said I was born 25 years ago, but truthfully, I don't remember anything before I was '7', according to that file. I lost track of time easily under them."

"No, no." Eyebrows' face was creasing in stress. "Gilbert Beilschmidt is the name of the German diplomat's missing _child_ \- he disappeared when I wasn't even in the force yet."

"Really?" Gilbert said, teasingly, not really wanting to listen to them recount his missing childhood. "I would have placed you as having been in the M16 since WWII." And that made Eyebrows frown at him scathingly.

"Heya, Red Eyes, we don't have to get mean, I know Artie isn't really nice, but bro, that was a low blow!" And 'Artie' shot Golden Boy a surprised look.

"We are not supposed to tell the suspect our names!" He shot back, and Golden Boy shrugged.

"Don't see why not, he told us his. Yo, nice to meet you, formally, Beilschmidt. I'm a CIA operative, Alfred Jones, and this is my partner from the M16, Arthur Kirkland."

"Nice to have a name to the face, then." Gilbert said, taking another long swig on his beer. "Suppose I'll have to address you as Alfred then, but Eyebrows is keeping his name."

Alfred howled with laughter. "God, Red Eyes, I still have to give you serious credit for that name, it has been a source of amusement for the entire team for  _years_." Arthur glared at the American, rolling his eyes.

"They're honestly not that big." He muttered, and Gilbert raised one eyebrow in disagreement.

"God, Gilbert, it's pissed me off for  _years_ that both you and Artie here can do the one eyebrow lift to show just how done you are with the world." He lifted up his eyebrows in synch a couple times, before giving up with an overdramatic sigh. "I  _cannot_  figure out how you get just one, because when I lift up both of them, I just look surprised!"

Gilbert sighed, sitting down again, finishing off his beer before he tossed the thing to the side, the glass bottle making a loud thump on the carpet. "So, now that we're done with pleasantries, you  _had_  to be after me for a reason- I know your government, after all those years of spying on it."

"Toris told us that the head of your spy network had taken you with him out of the Satellite states and deeper into Soviet controlled territory when the Wall fell." Alfred admitted. "We knew that you were here, and you were with the head at the last time we have a frame of reference for his location."

"That, he did." Gilbert agreed easily, gesturing for Kirkland to grab him another beer, and the Brit firmly refused. "Why are you looking for Braginsky? His spy network entirely collapsed. A few, like Toris, turned to you, and others turned to their own people to help retake land, like the lovely Erzebet and Vlad the Impaler- did you hear what he did to the leader of his nation?" Gilbert laughed.

"Yes, we heard of Ceaușescu's…. unfortunate end." Arthur said, distastefully, taking out a notepad and writing down the Russians name, undoubtedly. "But why did you stay with this…Braginsky?"

"I didn't choose to, if you must know." He chuckled. "Good ol' Braginsky was scrambling. I could have – really,  _should_  have- left the night the wall fell, but in all honesty, I didn't have a chance- Unlike a lot of the other places where the spies were running left and right to get away from the fucker, I didn't have anyone to turn to. So, in my hesitance," He gestured getting tranq'd. "…And I woke up in Moscow."

"You were kidnapped?" Alfred said, confused. "Man, that sucks balls."

Gilbert laughed. "No _fucking_ shit. But, it wasn't the first time the Russians got me, according to that file." He made a face at the thought. "Too bad I don't remember anything in it before I was, apparently, 7."

Alfred nodded, thoughtful. "Anyway, will you stay here?" He asked, trying to gauge Gilbert's trustworthiness, and the albino shrugged in compliance.

"I do not have anywhere else to go." He muttered. "I took what I had from Moscow, and just stopped running here. Even awesome Red Eyes runs out of funds without support of an all too willing Soviet Union, you see."

Alfred nodded, holding up his file. "And do you mind if we examine this?" Gilbert nodded again, sighing.

"Yeah. I also have a computer I nabbed, but I can't get into the fucker." He took it out of his bag, handing it to a flabbergasted Eyebrows.

"And…you're just giving it up?" He asked, confused as he took it, eyeing it mistrustfully.

He snorted. "Like I said, I can't get into it- I was hoping to see if I could figure out how to find my fellow now ex-spies, but, heh, is that not the funny thing? It has a better code than most of my previous hacks, plus it's been  _years_  since I hacked  _anything_  that important."

Arthur looked at him, still clearly suspicious. "And it won't explode upon opening it?" He asked, green eyes staring hard into Gilbert's, clearly not being as nice as Golden Boy was. Gilbert supposed he only had himself to blame for that, since Arthur had been on the receiving end of a lot of Gilbert's work.

The German huffed, and took it back, opening it up and displaying the locked screen, typing onto it a few times for good measure. "I told you, I don't have anywhere else to go, and if you can help me, I will help you."

"Seems fair." Alfred said, nodding. "I'll bring the computer, and your file back to base- and you will stay here until we have further instructions for you."

Gilbert nodded tiredly, yawning a bit. "Still jetlagged?" Arthur asked, condescending, and the German sighed but nodded in agreement.

"You can stick around the town area, and we'll have someone keeping an eye to make sure you're not getting away!" Alfred said cheerful. "Have any favorites?"

"Bring the Frenchie! He's always funny." Gilbert said with a sardonic grin towards Eyebrows. "Plus, he's open to drinking with me."

"The Frog?" Arthur said, like the word tasted bad in his mouth, and Gilbert just laughed, agreeing once again.

"Yes, Eyebrows. Now scram. I want to get shitfaced."

The two left with the only ties Gilbert Beilschmidt had to his former life- well, perhaps leaving out the weapons, but they hadn't needed to know about  _those_ in case things went south with the American Government.

So Toris had made it out, he thought to himself, thinking of the others he was regularly paired with. Lizzy he knew was fine, so was Vlad, the others- Natalia, Irunya, Feliks, Eduard, Raivis - they were unknowns.

He had left Ivan in a tizzy, struggling to keep the very last of his "loyal" spies from chewing down on their cyanide pills the moment that Russia declared its independence from the USSR, and the remaining communist governments in Europe collapsed around them.

And so, he drank, and drank, and drank. He really just wanted to forget this whole mess, the fall of the wall and everything he had ever taken for granted.

It was the winter of 1991, he was 25, and he had literally nowhere else to go in his life- no schooling, no money, no friends or family, and he was quickly losing hope in his ability to adapt.

Was it really so bad to want to forget that it had all changed?


	2. Chapter 2

XXXXX

_It was a dream, certainly. Gilbert always had such an unnerving ability to tell the difference between reality and whatever fucked up concoction his mind was serving him tonight._

_Elizabeta was there, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders, which were tanned and muscled, her dainty-looking hands gently touching his bare skin, but only seeming to be dainty, because he knew exactly what she had done with those hands in her lifetime._

" _Gil…" Her voice was there, it sounded so real…He knew it wasn't- she was back in Hungary, having overthrown her communist government. He had been taken away, in the night when the wall had_ _ **finally**_ _come down. To never see her again, Ivan had kindly reminded him as he sat blindfolded, and gagged. She had been such a bad influence, on all of them. So many of them had run off, like her._

_But not Gil._

_He was naked and looking and feeling both Elizabeta's hands on him, her green eyes slightly guarded but not enough for Gil to miss the worry that was in them, her voice fading as Ivan's overpowered hers. Ivan's hands had gone around his neck, causing Gil to lose vision of her._

_Once again, he was trying to make him forget. It was harder to do now, Gilbert supposed, with an adult who was no stranger to pain than it was to do to a small child, whose only knowledge of pain was simply scraping his knee in a fight with his friends and brothers but that was a time he didn't consciously remember._

_Ivan's hands around his throat were gone, as was Elizabeta. Gilbert was alone, small and naked still. He was crying, this time speaking in German, begging for the pain to stop._

" _You prevented us from taking your family." A harsh Russian voice was speaking to him, in German. Then it switched to Russian, which Gilbert couldn't understand for one reason or another. If he spoke German, why didn't he speak it in order to tell Gilbert what was happening?_

_He was beaten. The man kept speaking in Russian. Gilbert Beilschmidt was his name. He had to hold onto that…. Gilbert Beilschmidt…Gilbert…. Beilschmidt…. Gilbert…. Gil…_

_It had gotten so hard to think with all the pain. Every time they asked his name, he slowly learned not to say it. It hurt…it hurt…. Gilbert was watching himself from third person, his small 6 year old self looking at the wall with blank red eyes, blood red like those eyes dripping down his skin._

_They didn't mention his family anymore. Did he have one…? He knew he did at one point._

_The person in front of him was a dark figure. It smiled down at him, Gilbert only watching from third person. "Now, we can begin to get rid of the last of who he was…and build him up from scratch." Gilbert understood the Russian there- he didn't know when he had learned it…._

" _What is your name?" The woman had asked him, her voice speaking in Russian._

" _My name…. my name… it's…Gil." He answered honestly. That is who he was…right? Gil was the essence of who he was dumbed down to a syllable. A nickname… set by who? Who had called him Gil before this?_

" _Good. Gil, I look forward to working with you." The woman left him there, in the cold room once again, and Gil cried._

" _Brother?" It was German this time, and Gil couldn't even roll over to see him. "Brother…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" The person was clearly younger than Gil. Gil was 6…. brother…L…his name_ _ **started**_ _with an L._

_His brother's name started with an L. His brother…was…almost 4 now…right? Needed to be…protected…_

_Wasn't that why Gil…had come here? Hadn't he done this to protect his little brother?_

_It still hurt…where was Mom? Dad? Why couldn't they protect them…both Gil, and the boy whose name started with L?_

_He didn't…he didn't know. Not anymore._

" _Brother…" He was fading._

_Gil screamed at the top of his lungs._

XXXXX

All of a sudden, his screams carried over from the dream to reality. He was back in the bed of his apartment, in America. That was right. He wasn't in Eastern Germany, nor was he even inside the sphere the Soviet Union. He was in the heart of the West- the USA.

His heart, pounding against his chest in fright, slowly calmed down. Soon, the headache came on. That was right- he had gotten drunk last night… Gilbert. His name was Gilbert Beilschmidt. He was…25. Yes. He was 25. And he was alone- though he had gotten a visit from a few Western spies.

He wasn't there any more.

"Ah? Red Eyes?" It was a French sounding voice, tainting some English. "Was that you?"

"Ahh…" He blinked, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "That you, Frenchie?"

"Yes, Red Eyes. Sorry, I was told to keep an eye on you." He said, friendly. "Seems that Alfred was right to assume I wouldn't be needed."

Gilbert grinned. "Come on down. I won't be going back to sleep any time soon." He gestured to where he assumed the Frenchman was hiding, and the guy hopped down.

Gilbert turned to the right to turn on his lamp, sitting beside him where he slept on the floor. The albino ex-soviet turned back with a sardonic grin.

However, the Frenchman only looked at Gilbert in horror once he saw him face to face. "Mon dieu." He whispered, his hand shaking as he grabbed out his phone. "And you're…. truly…Red Eyes?" He asked, concerned, his blue eyes wide as they both looked at each other for the first time face to face.

Gilbert snorted. "Yeah. Well…Duh?"

"What is your name?" The Frenchman was still staring at him, and that made Gilbert awfully uncomfortable.

"That file that Golden Boy-er, Alfred took…it had more of me than I know about myself. However, friends call me Gil. Though I suppose…my real name is Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt." He said it aloud, and he shivered, the wounds from the dream reminding him of the last time he had said it as a child- whether or not that dream was truthful was another ballgame- it still unnerved him.

"Gilbert, then?" He said, rubbing his temples. "Oh. God. Arthur wasn't kidding, holy shit." He let out a sharp laugh, turning to Gilbert with no small amount of horror still in his eyes. He was clearly freaking out, making Gilbert raise an eyebrow in confusion.

"Yeah…?" He blinked. "Sorry, I don't understand what you're freaking out about… I was hoping to have a drinking buddy to help me get back to sleep, but clearly, I'm gonna be drinking alone." He said, grabbing his flask of vodka and chugging it, making the French spy look at him, hopelessly.

"I…I suppose…" He swallowed. "My apologies, Gilbert." He said, slowly. "I…my name, it's Francis." He extended a hand to the ex-soviet spy, who shook it slowly, still confused. "It's just bizarre to finally see what's become of you…and who Red Eyes is. You know, we didn't know you were…albino." He coughed.

"So, what's up with the nickname then, Frenchie?" Gilbert asked, looking into his flask.

"Ah… we knew it was your work when your target had "red eyes" on them. As in…you had two guided weapons, with both the marks on one person, making it look like a pair of eyes." Francis explained, rubbing his temples. "God… this is so fucked up…"

"What's really bothering you?" Gilbert asked, confused. "I mean, Eyebrows wasn't nearly as torn up about seeing me- but you, you're looking like you're breaking down."

"Perhaps." Francis replied, grinning a bit grimly. "Perhaps I am. I am freaking out over how on earth I'm going to tell your family what has become of their missing son."

Gilbert blinked, looked to his flask in confusion, before looking back to Francis, blinked again, before downing the rest of the vodka in one go. "Damn." He said, letting the burning sensation in his throat over power the pain in his heart. "So I take it you knew me, uh…before?"

Francis only nodded, reaching out for a bottle of Gilbert's beer. "Yes." He admitted. "I did."

Gilbert handed him the bottle opener, taking it back to open up another thing of beer for himself.

XXXXX

" _I missed you, Gil." The voice was Elizabeta's. He knew it._

" _Lizzy? How'd you find me?" He was flabbergasted, and he turned around, ignoring the facts that showed him this was a dream._

" _It's always easy to find a traitor." Lizzy's voice had turned cold._

_Gilbert took a step back, and she took a step forward._

_A gun was pointed at his chest. "Lizzy?" Gilbert asked again, his sudden fright evident in his voice._

_Elizabeta wasn't alone. Ivan was walking in from behind her, telling her what a good girl she was for finding the deserter. He didn't even have enough time to panic._

_A gunshot went off, and then there was nothing in Gilbert's mind._

XXXXX

With a gasp, he woke up alone, clutching at the place where he had dreamed Lizzy had shot him dead.

After a moment to collect himself, Gilbert looked around, and seeing no one, he had to presume Francis had already gone to wherever he was meant to be. Gilbert groaned, his head aching worse than it had been in the middle of the night.

The ex-soviet spy teetered onto his feet, shaking his head a bit in an effort to dispel the dizziness but only making it worse.

There was a note, but it was written in English, of all things, and with his head spinning this much, Gil couldn't read it for shit. He flopped onto the wall once he was fully standing, and held his stomach and his head, blinking rapidly.

" _Apparently_   _I tested my limits_." He muttered in German, resisting the urge to vomit and settle down for the time being. " _I need water_.  _And pain medication."_ Gilbert grabbed his wallet, with a fake ID and money, before he put on his hat, sunglasses, and coat, before he walked down the street.

The neighborhood was a little scary. But if anyone tried anything with Gilbert, who despite being incredibly hung over, was still going to kick their ass if they tried anything. He was still jumpy from the nightmare.

It didn't make sense, but then again, dreams never did. Lizzy had deserted first, before him, and before a lot of the others as well. She never liked Ivan, let alone would follow through on an order to kill Gilbert by him. Right?

His heart ached. Lizzy…Lizzy was complicated. He, Gil, loved her without any reservations. There was nothing more in the universe that Gilbert cared about. Even now, he valued her freedom over his own. Which is why he had made no move to locate her before leaving Europe. It was more likely that Gilbert was being tracked than she was. He couldn't endanger her like that.

The rub was that Gilbert wasn't ever sure she loved him. Certainly, she cared for him. But that was more due to their closeness in life story. They had both been taken by protecting another. Gilbert had helped the 16 year old adjust to her new job there. Gilbert had been 14 at the time. Maybe Elizabeta had thought she was helping Gilbert too.

Certainly, they flirted. But that was what Elizabeta  _did_ \- she did it to all her targets. If she wanted information out of someone, she flirted, and slept with them to make them bend to what she desired.

Which is partially why Gil had never agreed to sleep with her. He didn't want to be a target to her. He wasn't a target. He had never quite known how to express that to her.

However, once upon a time, Elizabeta had made him promise that when the Soviet Union collapsed, he had to date her. And hopefully, marry her. Gilbert had always hoped she wasn't kidding, and that she was serious in her courtship of him. But, now they hadn't seen each other in over 2 years.

He kept walking, looking for a drug store or something similar. When he managed to find one, he got what he wanted, and put some cash down on the register, before walking out. He sat on the street curb, nursing the water after he downed the pain medication, red eyes looking out to the city.

It wasn't a nice city, but then again, the Soviet Union hadn't been great either. Neither had East Germany been a good place. It was just strange, to see that sort of inequality here, in America, a place so hell-bent on proving itself better than the communists. Here, in this city, they looked no different, except for the languages written on the walls.

However, he noticed two pairs of footsteps walking steadily towards him, and he frowned, tensing slightly, taking off his hat and putting it down, then putting his sunglasses, pain meds, and water in with it. He stood, prepared to face the threat, who were focusing intensely on him, one of them having frozen in its place as he stood.

Gilbert, and the confrontation with those he had never seen before, was forestalled with an excited shout. "Gil!"

His eyes were torn away from the brunette and blonde duo of men, instead focusing on the very familiar brunette woman racing towards him, her green eyes tearing up as she shouted for him.

"Lizzy!" He answered, his mouth growing into a smile, opening up his arms and taking a few quick steps towards her, letting the woman jump onto him, wrapping him in a giant hug. The two men, who had parted in surprise for the overly excited woman, watched as Gilbert and Elizabeta hugged, before the woman gently punched the side of his head, and Gil smiled good-naturedly.

"You stupid man!" She shouted in Russian, and he laughed, kissing her gently on the lips, Elizabeta meeting the kiss eagerly, easily. They parted again. "Why did you not come to my home? I was waiting for you!"

"I'm so sorry, Lizzy." He murmured, kissing her cheek softly, feeling her pounding heart against his chest, his hand gripping her back tightly, reassuring him that she was there. "I was taken by Ivan again, you know how that is, and then I was afraid to look for you…I escaped him not even a month ago."

"Ah, who cares!?" She said, kissing him again, fully and lovingly. "I finally found you!" Elizabeta smiled, letting go of him in order to wipe her tears away. "This is the day I never thought would happen…" She murmured, voice soft, looking away as she held his hands, biting her lip softly.

"Elizabeta…" Gilbert's hand gently cradled her chin, lifting it up to look her in the eye. Her eyes were teary, bright green, and looking at him expectantly.

"Gil?" Elizabeta's voice was very small, and she bit her lip. She was waiting for something.

"I don't know if you…meant it then, when you made me promise…but…" He coughed. "There is no one else I'd rather spend the rest of my life with." Gilbert kissed her. "Please,  _please_ …will you marry me?"

Elizabeta did finally release her tears, licking her lips, before nodding, unable to speak with how overly emotional she was. "Yes…" She blubbered, before Gilbert pulled her back into a kiss, holding her tightly to his chest and hoping he'd never have to let go of her again.

"Well, it seems that you've been upstaged, Ludwig." The voice was Italian, and both Elizabeta and Gilbert trained their gazes and a pair of weapons on the duo.

The Italian and the one identified as Ludwig jumped in shock, before slowly raising their arms up. Gilbert stared at them.

"Who are you?" He growled, one arm around Lizzy and the other around his shotgun.

The blonde couldn't speak, and so the Italian coughed a bit, and smiled at the pair, nervous now. "I am Feliciano Vargas." He smiled. "I was sent here by Francis Bonnefoy, yes?" Gilbert's eyes widened, and Elizabeta frowned, looking at Gilbert for answered, but the moment the Italian took a step forward, her weapon was immediately retrained on the man.

"I! I, well, Mr. Bonnefoy knew that I was closer…to the Beilschmidt family." He smiled, swallowing thickly.

"Excellent. What does that have to do with Gil and myself?" Elizabeta demanded, and Gilbert only swallowed, his weapon faltering as he turned to the blonde again, the name suddenly clicking.

The brother he had sacrificed himself to protect, his name had begun with an L.

"L…. Lutz?" Gilbert asked, his voice distant even to himself, staring at the blonde, dropping his weapon as he clutched his head. "Lizzy…." He looked to her with shocked red eyes, the brunette staring at him in alarm as she used one arm to keep him on his feet, but as the two strangers rushed forward to them, she fended them off once again. "I…I…" Gilbert gasped, before his eyes rolled up into his head, and that was all he knew.

**Author's Note:**

> AND ANOTHER pruhun/usuk au that absolutely NO ONE asked for. HAHA. TBH, i've had this done for weeks, but I posted it bc damn, i watched mission impossible yesterday. I love me some ESPIONAGE AUs.
> 
> Anyway, this au is set just after the fall of the USSR. Basically all the countries that are currently canon are into some sort of espionage. haHA
> 
> Jus' so you younglings don't look up the gruesome pics of Ceaușescu's death at the hands of the Romanian people, know he was hunted down and brutally killed- rightfully, most likely, but it was still absolutely gruesome.
> 
> and uh, belaliech will be a small side pairing, usuk will be a bit larger than them. PruHun is main.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this (semi-historically accurate) fic!


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